On The Far Side of Nowhere
by The.Dust.Of.Jack
Summary: When Sherlock loses his first case, he takes John along to show him how he intends to deal with such a catastrophe.


Title: On The Far Side Of Nowhere, Version One  
Pairing: John/Sherlock, but I intended it as friendship when I wrote it. I still see friendship. Let be.  
Rating: Um probably older teens  
Warning: Suicide, Character death  
Word count: 2,853  
Disclaimer: Not the BBC

Summary: When Sherlock loses his first case, he takes John along to show him how he deals with such a catastrophe.

A/N: I have no excuse, but I regret nothing. =)

* * *

_On the Far Side of Nowhere, Version I_

* * *

"What happens if a train comes?"

"We die."

John looked over to Sherlock who didn't look back, and rather just continued to stare straight ahead, eyes wide as he observed the grey clouds which hung overhead that dull morning.

"Couldn't have picked a nicer day for it, could you?" John asked, and Sherlock smiled a bit.

"Oh, my dear John, I just couldn't go on, can't face another day, walls closing in, et cetera, et cetera." He replied, and then looked over to his companion who had willingly joined him in lying prone on the railway tracks, head resting on the rail as if it were a pillow. John seemed perfectly content in his position, as if this were just another everyday thing, and if it were anyone else Sherlock supposed he may have questioned their mental state.

"I understand." John said with a cheerful grin that Sherlock returned. "But if we do actually die then I'm holding you responsible."

"Naturally." Sherlock agreed. "It must only be gracious of me to accept such terms seeing as I'm the one who brought us here."

"By train, no less. Is it significant to your recovery process that we be in the middle of scenic nowhere?"

"I find the country is very beautiful, John. If I am to die today, or in fact any day, I expect I would always wish to be scattered here."

"So being hit by a train whilst in this spot is even better: you can see the countryside and, while not being s_cattered _in it, you can at least be _splattered_ in it."

"Your sarcasm is a breath of fresh air in the darkest moments, John. I fear a progression of it approaching. One day you may even be snarkier than me."

"Sherlock,not even _Mycroft_ is as snarky as you, so I fail to see how I can be fair competition. Anyway, how is this a dark moment? If a train does come we shall be able to feel it and remove ourselves from the track. We are hardly in any real danger, despite what you like to think."

Sherlock looked to John who had his eyebrows raised at him, and nodded in silent agreement.

"I suppose." He said. "But then, I am so terribly comfortable here."

John shot Sherlock a sharp glare. "Please say you aren't intending to stay on the line, train or no train?"

"John, I wish I could, but you were the one who enforced the 'no lying' policy and thus I am compelled to deny you your request."

"Sherlock, like you said, if a train comes, we will die."

"No, John, you have your facts wrong." Sherlock said, waving a finger at his friend. "You said 'we', when those whom shall die should a train comes is actually the singular, 'I'. As you so rightfully explained earlier, there is plenty of warning so one may remove oneself from the track. In fact, there is so much notice of the train's approach that I fail to see why they bother putting up signs of caution in the first place. "

"Why are you so eager to kill yourself?" and Sherlock recognised John's tone as that of exasperation. Sherlock himself failed to see what John was so exasperated about.

"John, you seem to be under the impression that I want to die." Sherlock noted, hating to point out the obvious but feeling it necessary when John was acting so very slow.

"Well, that might be because you have taken me out here to lie on train tracks. A train could come at any time and kill you, especially since you have no intention of moving."

"John, I know that the train will come at about thirteen minutes past five. It is half four. Hopefully by the time five thirteen comes to pass I would have breathed enough fresh air to last me the week, and then, and only when I am satisfied, I shall move."

"You know the train timetable?" John said, sounding as if he didn't know why he didn't expect that in the first place. "You've done this before?"

"A few times." Sherlock admitted. "The first time was when I was trying to get off cocaine, and it was quite rough going for me."

"So you come and lie on a train track?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's quieter than lying on a motorway."

"And more dangerous than lying on a couch." John said, nodding in a manner which suggested it all made sense now, but he wasn't very happy about it. "Sherlock, this is still about Billy Thierry, isn't it? That was _weeks ago_-"

"John, I hardly expect you to understand, but it was a trying experience and something I am finding hard forgetting."

"It's one case, Sherlock – hardly the end of the world. How were you supposed to know that his brother's been dead for ten years? Not even NASA knew that!"

Sherlock scrunched up his eyes and took a moment. He then sighed heavily, and then peeked a look at John who was waiting with enough patience to make him an invaluable companion, but not too much as to let Sherlock get away with everything anymore. Such a thing was a shock to Sherlock's system, as Sherlock had always expected to be waited on hands and feet. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant one though, admittedly.

"I should have seen through it – it's not even possible!" Sherlock scolded himself. "They weren't twins, they didn't look alike, they weren't even the same _height_-"

"Which is why the deception was all the cleverer." John nodded in a soothing manner. "Why are you getting so worked up about it?"

"It was two people in a space suit, John, and one of them was a corpse. How can you not get worked up about that?"

"Because it was quite weird, yes, but to be fair we have seen weirder. You've solved weirder, like the time with the killer dentures, or that boy, what was his name-"

"Christopher Browning."

"Yes, him, with his 'pets'. Especially that 'Roger'of his."

"The name was influenced by a web-comic," Sherlock recalled with some degree of fondness. "In which the character 'Roger' was a perfectly usual young man who hid the fact he had more than a few vital bolts which were in need of some tweeking."

"The expression is 'a screw loose', Sherlock." John said lightly.

"Thank you." Sherlock returned. "A comic which, luckily enough, I happened to stumble across a few months earlier when Molly showed it to me one morning. The main characters were all human in attitude, but drawn as cats, you see, which was why she so cared for it."

John nodded, letting Sherlock drone on as he watched the clouds above him. Molly did like cats.

"Roger, cousin to the main character Pierre, more commonly referred to as 'Pete' though, enjoyed guns and had killed three people in his first night at the speakeasy establishment where Pete worked and where he was meticulously invited by the naïve young goddaughter of the original owner."

"And?" John prompted when Sherlock paused.

"Well, because of this action he was assigned a job as, and I quote, 'mah-scle', because of his accuracy with guns and efficient and invaluable ability to kill. Obviously, such a web-comic and other such like it was where Christopher Browning drew his influence. The Roger which Browning had locked up, of course, was clinically insane."

"He looked like he was twelve."

"He was eighteen at the time, but had been kept in a cage since he was five. You know all this, John."

"I didn't know how you found the web comic from." John admitted, having just assumed that was one of the seemingly obscure things Sherlock knew innately.

"Why did you allow me to harp on about it, John? It seems an incredible rude thing to do – as if I were gloating to show how simply brilliant I am."

John snorted in his laughter. "Actually, reminding you how 'simply brilliant' you are is in fact the devious plan here. Because having you moping because one person in this world is crazy enough to go into space with a corpse stealing their oxygen against all logic and for no real reason other than 'he wants to see the stars', as graffitied on the inside of the shuttle in toothpaste, is really too much to ask of anyone to deduce, even if you are the best."

"The Americans think I'm an idiot." Sherlock scowled. John rolled his eyes.

"Hardly. They think you're a genius and a hero, because you managed to get that ship down and save those other two astronauts."

"I didn't solve the case."

"You did close enough."

"I still haven't solved the case, John. John, you don't seem to understand: I _always_ solve the case."

"And when you don't you come out and lie on train tracks?"

"Without the trains themselves I imagine many more people would do such a thing. It would be a public sport, and lots of money could be earned from the businesses which would arrive on the edge of the tracks. I imagine plenty of McDonalds popping up."

"That lapse in sanity aside," John said, trying to hide a smile. "Is this really how you want to die? Getting hit by a train?"

Sherlock sighed at John's repetitiveness. He wondered briefly how long it would take for him to drop it, before realising John would never drop it for as long as he lived, even if that was only until five thirteen.

"John, it sounds to me as if you don't trust me." He stated. John was startled by the sudden change in subject.

"Of course I trust you, Sherlock." John said, and Sherlock turned his head to look at John intensely.

"Then believe me when I say I have no intentions of dying. If it happens, it happens, but you should realise that my record for not being hit by trains is actually quite good."

John snorted at that, smile wide across his face, and Sherlock smiled back, appeased at a job well done. John should be satisfied by that until the next time they found themselves on a different set of tracks.

Silence reigned for a while, but Sherlock came out here to vent and he couldn't very well do that whilst keeping his mouth shut.

"What kind of person sets himself up as his brother anyway? Who'd want to be their brother? _I _certainly wouldn't."

John laughed at that too.

* * *

They developed a game as they lay there on the train tracks, which was a mix between 'I spy' and 'try to follow Sherlock's erratic trail of thoughts'. As the time passed, it also had some cloud spotting included, with some general knowledge questions Sherlock all but failed at, and guessing how far away the train should be if it started at _X_, was travelling at the speed of _Y_, and had to pass through the cities _K, L _and _M _even though it's final destination was Edinburgh.

"Edinburgh?" John had asked, and Sherlock nodded.

"That's where the train which passes at approximately five thirteen is headed, today."

"Well then, if it's starting at Cambridge, travelling through London then it should be here in," John looked at his watch quickly. "Fourteen minutes."

Sherlock said his maths was wrong, and anyway the train wouldn't start at Cambridge because a train from Cambridge to here wouldn't go through London. John asked where they were specifically, looking for an answer which wasn't just a vague 'in the country' or 'England', and Sherlock shrugged in reply.

"Look," John said, shoving his wrist towards Sherlock. "I'm not working on my maths or geographical knowledge, I'm working on yours. What is the time?"

"It is one minute to five, John, as you very well know seeing as you are the one with the watch."

"What time will the train be here?"

"Thirteen minutes past five." Sherlock answered promptly.

"So?"

"So?" Sherlock parroted, before he blinked at John. "Ah." He said. "The game did not work then?"

John shook his head, though Sherlock personally thought his question hadn't needed an answer.

* * *

"What would Harry think?" John asked, and Sherlock made a sound which was easier to make than to ask 'About what?'.

"I mean about us. Here. She'd think we were insane. Well, she'd think you were insane, actually, and that I was in love with you so followed you blindly to my death, why did I even ask?"

"I'm not sure of the latter inquiry, but I think your own conclusion to your first question was sound. Harriet seems like the sort of person to believe such romantic nonsense, even after her messy break up with Clara."

"What are you basing that on?" John wondered, and Sherlock gave him a look to suggest he thought John an idiot.

"Your blog, mostly. And the texts she sent you. Oh, and the few answer phone messages she left."

"She rang me?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "Several times in fact. It was incredibly distracting. I was trying to see if the poison was in the roses, you recall, as everyone so insisted."

"And then, of course, it turns out it wasn't in them at all. A quicker acting poison was administered during the dinner, and then later a deadly concentration was added whilst they were in the hospital." John finished. "Just like you said."

"Just like I said." Sherlock agreed. "In the end I just blocked the number."

John closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face. "Oh." was all he managed, as he really shouldn't have been surprised of such a happening. It probably started from the moment he let Sherlock use his phone in St. Bart's lab on their first meeting and had just elevated; letting Sherlock take control of his possessions like that.

"Oh?" Sherlock echoed, and John sent him a sharp look Sherlock didn't acknowledge. "I suspect Mycroft would just shrug his shoulders if he found us." He then said in reply to John's musings about his sister. "And then he would smother the press coverage of it. Obviously, family and close friends would need to be informed, but not the general public."

"You know how much it'll cost to clean the lines?"

"Not enough to make Mycroft curse me for doing it, I imagine." Sherlock sighed. "Maybe if I spread myself really wide it would make a bigger splatter."

John grinned as Sherlock spread-eagled himself over the line, but it was cut short by thoughts of Harry.

"She won't be able to afford it."

"I'll leave a message for Mycroft, I'm sure he'll carry out my last whim." Sherlock said, without missing a beat. He whipped out his phone and started to text. "Of course, it won't be sent. The police will find it for him though, I imagine." And at that he tossed the phone away from the lines, but still close enough to no doubt warrant it as included in the investigation which would definitely be subsequent of today's oncoming tragedy.

"When did 'I'll drag you off the line myself if you don't bloody move' become 'I won't move either'?" John asked, and Sherlock grinned at his friend, but he could get a proper look at him because the tracks were vibrating against his head and those vibrations were getting heavier the closer the train moved towards them.

"I think we picked a prime spot." Sherlock noted with a misplaced air of glee about him. "Because of that corner it will be impossible for the driver to see us, and thus should continue on his way, possibly never knowing it was he who killed us ever in his life."

"How comforting." John said in a dead-pan which made Sherlock nudge him sharply with his elbow. John shoved him right back.

"John, this is no time to be sarcastic. Isn't this exciting?"

"It was just _one_ case, Sherlock." John protested, and Sherlock sneered a bit.

"But it meant everything, John." Sherlock replied lowly, and John shook his head with a look of saddened fondness, raising his hand a little towards Sherlock but then stopping. Sherlock was disturbed by the look and was upset when John let the hand fall, almost as if he were disappointed in Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head a little, saying to himself such expressions couldn't be shown through a pausing of the hand, and was surprised by his own actions when he desperately grabbed the hand back and pressed it to his cheek. He needed John, and he needed the proximity of the man more than ever, and when he looked back he saw John was smiling and it made him smile too.

"Do you want to get off?" He asked, and John pulled him a little closer because it was hard to hear over the train.

"Too late." The man said into his ear, and Sherlock closed his eyes when John did.

"I guess this means there are no more cases for you to lose." He heard John's voice, soft and warm against him and he held on a little tighter.

"No." He breathed, knowing John wouldn't hear him, but such a revelation made his heart sing, and it was what allowed him to let the avoidable become inevitable.

* * *

End.

* * *

A/N: Oh, and the streak of not-death is broken =) Now prepare for the huge massive A/N rant. Rants. Plural.

1. I know, I know – Suicide, Sherlock, not a great combination. Never the less, it's **fun**.

2. There are, or will be, 3, possibly four versions of this, so you can pick and choose. This one in particular is the story I set out to write, more or less, but I foretell a huge amount of hatred coming my way so I intend to both correct the end to this story as well as make it worse in different versions to come. For now, though, I would just like to apologise for the lack of description and overabundance of dialogue. I sometimes quite like a break from my usual style of sentences a mile long.

3. I also want to thank like…everyone, because I've never gotten so many emails with notices about my stuff before. It's absolutely wicked, especially all my shiny reviews. I treasure them, I really do. Apparently, review wise, people like my 'Just the way it is' and hate me for leaving 'Sick and Tired' where it is. Ehhhhhhhh, I'll think about doing a follow up. But I might wait until July first.

4. I've always expected Watson to be sarcastic, even if Conan Doyle says he hasn't the smatterings of a sense of humour. I just think a companion, nay, a friend, of Sherlock Holmes has to be sarcastic and a no-shit, kinda guy with an undertone of _No, Holmes, you can NOT very well do that you crazy psycho, but then again it is kinda funny._ Which was totally today's approach.  
On Sherlock's side of things I went with the approach he took with John in the third episode with the trainers: "Yes, yes, yes, wonderful, fantastic, you're right, but at the same time you're totally and utterly wrong, my goodness gracious is everyone an idiot bar me? Don't bother answering that."

5. Web comic is influenced by '_Lackadaisy_' © whoever wrote it and I might be killed for mentioning it, but it's real and it's shiny and I've changed details a little, but you should go look for it.

6. Everyone knows where the first lines came from, and the bit about Sherlock's track record for not getting hit by a train is from _Lackadaisy_. The cases mentioned are not going to be elaborated on. Probably.

7. Last thing: This fic was inspired by Ke$ha's TiK ToK. Funny world this is when a crappy little singer actually starts to inspire you. How did it inspire me? It was that happy attitude. The aim of the fic was HAPPY. Albeit, mixed with somewhat disturbing.


End file.
